I Can't Sleep in Silence
by This Rhythm
Summary: Oneshot of Katniss and Peeta in "Catching Fire" while they're in the Capitol. Rated M for a reason.


**Disclaimer: All intellectual properties belong to Suzanne Collins. However, all other ideas belong to This Rhythm. **

**A/N: Here's a little oneshot of **_**Catching Fire **_**while Peeta and Katniss are in the Capitol. I was inspired to do this after reading SassenachWench's fanfic, "The Cave." Check it out; it's listed as one of my favorites. Also, please forgive me in advance for any mistakes. **

**Reviews, constructive or otherwise, are always appreciated.  
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_p. 244 "I didn't realize until now how starved I've been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn't wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth . . ."_

I can feel Peeta's soft, warm fingers coax my hair into smoothing out. We are cupped together in unison, and I feel the heat pouring out from him. His breath tickles my neck, and instead of saying something, I relish it. It is one of the many things that make me realize why I need to keep Peeta alive. He needs to breathe. And for one selfish second, I'm glad he's breathing next to me.

A loose arm is barely wrapped around my waist. I know Peeta is still awake because I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the air slowly coming out of his baby soft lips. I also know since we are going to die, I want to hold Peeta a little while longer. So now, I take his arm that is yearning to touch me (I think – hope, rather), and I bring his arm closer to me. My fingers wrap around his, my arm lying on top of his. I snuggle in deeper into the blanket, and our bodies are touching in every possible way.

Peeta gives a contented sigh, and he buries his nose into my hair. I hear him inhale deeply, and I slightly smile. My hair is worth smelling. Huh.

We lay there for a couple of minutes, each sucked in our own thoughts. Instead of thinking about the horrors of the games or the horrors of what President Snow has done, I am thinking about Peeta's body pressed against mine and the soft brush of his toes. My heart suddenly beats a little faster, recalling what he had said earlier about being with me every second. Recalling how every time he said something similar, it left me feeling guilty. But now, I want to prove it to him. I want to prove him right.

I don't know what posses me to do so, but now, I am suddenly facing him, my eyes burning. Peeta's eyelids are drooping, but they widen slightly. I purse and lick my lips, the selfish part of me wanting just one kiss. Just one. And then it will all be over and we can go back to sleep.

So I lean in, both of my hands tightly crushed in between us and resting on his chest, while my lips are barely a centimeter away. I glance up at Peeta, and he has a strange look on his face. He is inquisitive at my sudden action, but I can tell he wants this. Keeping my eyes fixated on his lips, I give a tiny brush. But that tiny brush of lips does nothing to soothe me.

My eyes peek up at Peeta, and all he does is stay still. His face betrays nothing. It is as if he is daring me to go on. Does he think that I will back down? Does he think that I do not care for him? That I don't want to spend my last few days on Earth with him?

I don't say anything. I resume back to actions. And now when I kiss him, there is much more force. I feel like there's a clock ticking on top of us, taunting us. But maybe just this one minute, it'll cease to exist and I can feel full for once.

Peeta returns the kiss in disdain. I know he is curious. I know he feels hurt. And I feel guilty.

"Kat," he begins quietly. He shifts slightly; we are now facing each other, side to side, our bodies no longer touching. Internally, I groan at the loss of contact.

I raise my eyebrows at him, silently asking what is wrong. His brows furrow as if he is trying to contemplate something, and I see his jaw clench a couple of times. This doesn't look good.

"What does this mean to you?"

Those six words are a blow to my chest. It's as if he can read the depths of my four-foot thick vault. He might as well have robbed my emotions bank. I don't know why I feel everything crashing down, but I realize how selfish and stupid I am. Looking up at Peeta's warm eyes, I know.

I was always scared. Everything was so fickle – and still is – that I never wanted to hold onto hope. I didn't want to make many friends because I knew I would never get along, and I knew that I would never have time to be a normal girl, like the ones in the Capitol. I had lost my father in a second. What else could I lose in a second? Gale, Prim, my mom, and even Lady; everyone I love. Even Peeta. I was a coward.

It had never occurred to me that maybe Gale actually liked me. It never occurred to me that Peeta was always watching over me. Gale was eventually going to go to the mines, and that would result in us seeing each other for only a day or two. And Peeta . . . He would have always been a part of me.

Gale and I are best friends. Sure, maybe we have feelings for each other, but it will never escalate to a romantic one. His touch doesn't burn my skin. He doesn't leave me feeling so empty, yet so full. He doesn't leave me having dreams were naughtiness is not taught at all. He doesn't beg me for more – not just for a kiss, but for closeness.

What _does_ this mean? It means I have very strong feelings for Peeta. Do I love him? Perhaps. I don't know what love is. But I know this. I know this feeling is like no other. He was always here. And he always will be. Maybe Peeta loves me, and maybe not. The desire to touch him and the desire to be near him in a way that I have not known before sets me on fire. That is enough for me.

I can no longer run. And I won't run. My life is right in front of me. It may be cut short, but I can make that half-mile run a lot longer. I can take a leap; perhaps it'll be a good thing.

"Peeta . . . I know now. I really, really, know. I'm sorry if I acted stupidly, but I was just scared. I didn't know how to hold onto something as wonderful as your feelings for me. But I understand. So please, Peeta, I don't want to die tomorrow not knowing things you really hate, or . . ." I trail off, lost in thought. What do I want to know about him?

I want to know everything.

This eye-opener sends a round of heat and giddiness. I am yearning to be near him.

This whole time, I was fiddling with Peeta's shirt, not even bothering to look up. His silence makes me feel all jittery, and a stab of rejection sweeps through me. A lump forms in my throat, and even though I want to get out of here, I stay still. I think I'm frozen.

"Katniss," Peeta begins.

"Wait, hold on. I-I'm no longer going to run. I can't escape anything, no matter how hard I try," I say. I still haven't looked up at Peeta. "I don't want to waste our time."

Silence comes by. I keep my eyes fixed on his shirt, and I'm still burrowed deep within the blanket. Peeta doesn't loosen his hold on me, but I feel a certain cool wash over us.

"So what? You're just going to be nice to me a-and give me what I want? You're still going 'try' like you've been trying then, right? So why bother? It obviously won't make a difference," Peeta cuts out.

"It's not _real_."

This sudden revelation and the amount of hostility in his words throw me off. He thinks I'm bluffing. He thinks that the reason why I'm saying all of this is because we know we're going to die, and I'm trying to make the most out of it. But that's not the case. I care about him. And this just pisses me off.

I get up from under the covers and sit up straight. I am propped on my knees, staring straight at Peeta. I don't say anything, but I hope my stance shows him how mad I am. He looks up at me curiously. He too, gets up, although he is leaning against the headboard and I am well on the middle of the bed.

"Katniss?"

The amount of force in my slap is loud enough to be heard outside. I am towered over him, angry. He is too stunned to even form words. Peeta clutches his damaged cheek like a little girl.

"Damn you, Peeta."

I grab him roughly by his shirt and I kiss him thoroughly like it is meant to be. I assume it is bruise worthy, but I don't care. I pour everything I can into that kiss, trying to show him that yes, I do care for him deeply and that I would die for him. _Will _die for him.

After a few seconds, I feel Peeta responding. His lips part slightly and he lightly kisses me back. But this is not enough. I need more. I want more. With on hand on his luscious locks and the other on the nape of his neck, I bring him closer, begging for more. I can feel Peeta smiling, and this sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

I can feel his tongue touch my lower lip, shyly, and suddenly I am beyond eager to return the favor. As his tongue enters my mouth, pleasure seeps through my skin. Timidly, I reach out and stroke Peeta's, and we soon begin a tango, dancing around one another. This kiss is . . . life. All the other kisses lack compare to this. This kiss is so real, so authentic. I am a fool for denying Peeta.

Peeta's hand is on my waist, while the other one is on the nape of my neck, rubbing soft circles. Both of my hands are wrapped around his neck. I can't let go. It is as if I am glued to him.

I gasp as Peeta's lips leave mine, but I writher in enjoyment as his lips move to my neck. The kisses are soft, but occasionally, I feel his tongue swipe over my skin. He covers every inch, taking his time. My skin burns from his contagious touch, and I unexpectedly moan. My voice is raw and thick with emotion.

I don't know how this happened, but now I am under Peeta while he still peppers my skin with his lips. He is resting on his forearms, while his head is buried on my shoulder. I moan over and over again, never mind the shock of excitement which is now having a pronounced affect elsewhere. Peeta is now kissing my collar bone down to my shoulder, back and forth on both sides. I arch out several times, trying to relieve the burning ache within me.

Alas, he stops. Our breathing is labored, and I am clutching desperately onto him. My fingers graze the hem of his shirt, and I yearn to see what is underneath. Peeta looks up at me, gazing longingly at me. His blue eyes are dilated and full of hunger.

"No matter what happens, don't doubt. And please, don't doubt this. This is as real as it can get," he whispers, eating his own words. All I do is look up at him. I resort back to actions, and with a slow agonizing pace, I lift his shirt up. Seeing that I am having trouble taking it off, he gets up and swipes it away.

"I know," is all I say, admiring his sculpted chest. It has long been defined from the hours of training, and gently, I run my fingers over his chest. I marvel at his sheer beauty. Now, it is my turn.

I lightly push him over so that he is under me. I straddle him, wondering where I have acquired these new techniques. Lustfully, I run my hands over his chest, admiring each inch. I start from his abdomen, and slowly work my way up to his shoulder. I then run my hands over to his bulging biceps. His skin is so smooth and soft. Timidly, I bend over and give him open mouthed kisses on his shoulder, up to his neck. I teasingly flick my tongue out, a new maneuver Peeta has just taught me. I can hear Peeta's breathing increase, and I can _feel_ him. A new surge of joy comes over me; _I_ did this to him. I am making him feel that way.

Resting my lips up to his jaw, I lick it, feeling bold. I hear Peeta giving a strangled chuckle. I pull back, confused. Did I do something wrong?

Looking up at me, Peeta smiles and says, "You surprise me, Kat. Every time." Now, he is the one to get up. I lean back, and we are facing each other. Peeta scoots closer, and his warm fingers tentatively touch my shirt. He pauses, his eyes asking if I want this. If this is OK. I nod, placing my hands over his which are plastered on the sides of my body.

Leisurely, he lifts it up. I am not wearing a bra, since I was planning to sleep. But now I am nervous. Never have I done this with a boy before. Everything was about me, and my family. But Peeta has now entered my life, and it is hard to resist. Even though I have spent hours naked under my prep team, I know that being naked like _this _takes on a whole new meaning.

Finally, he takes my shirt off. We are both breathing heavily, lust and passion taking over us. Peeta gapes at me for a slight second, and I blush tremendously. I am stripped bare. Nervously, I start to cover myself, when Peeta halts my actions. He gives me a sly grin, and kisses me. I am quickly a quivering blob, his kisses making me melt every second. Slowly, he leans forward; so now, I am underneath him and he is on top, way on the opposite side of the bed.

His hands run through my rib cage in a very slow pace, and my breathing is erratic. At times, I can feel the bridge of his nose nuzzling on my skin, while his tongue occasionally darts out. In my state of mind, I quickly realize that Peeta has had some practice. I am now feeling inadequate and poorly trained.

As if he was reading my thoughts, he says, "Jesus Katniss, you seem to know what I need." He looks up at me and smiles, my heart fluttering. But then, I think, I need _him_. I need Peeta to feel even a tiny ounce of what he has done to me. Without him, I don't think I would ever feel this way – feeling like I'm going to burst from sheer ecstasy. Without him, I don't think I'll be able to even _live_.

"I need you," I breathe out.

He stops whatever he's doing at peers at me like he's never done before. It is a mixture of wonder, lust, love, and happiness. I stare into his topaz eyes for another second, wondering if I said the wrong thing.

He kisses me like there's no tomorrow. It is rough. It is silky. It is beautiful. I feel glorious, and I am glad he is here with me tonight. His hands are now roaming all over my body, and I arch out again. My body is aching beyond measure.

Suddenly, I feel Peeta's lips back up to my stomach, trailing down. He digs his hand under my leg and wraps his arm around it, so that my leg is hitched over his shoulder. His lips are on my abdomen. Peeta kisses every inch. And with every inch, I moan and throb for more. These new sensations that are running through me make me feel a little bit afraid, but curious to find out what it is.

My eyes open wide when I feel Peeta kissing my breast. I am panting openly and not shyly. Just when I think he is going to kiss my nipple, he kisses the skin next to it, leaving me wanting.

"Peeta, please," I manage to say. What I want, I don't know. But he is doing very naughty things to me, and I simply need to find out. Upon hearing my defeat, I finally feel him sucking and nibbling me, and I am undone. Oh! These sounds are primal, as if they come from a Neanderthal themselves. Animalistic, raw, real, plain I and my feelings for Peeta elicit from my throat.

I clutch his blanket head of blonde closer, begging him to do something other than torture me with his softness. I can feel him smiling, and underneath my hood of lust, I make an impatient sound, earning a slow chuckle from him.

"Patience is virtue," Peeta says sagely, his blonde head bobbing up now, his eyes twinkling. My breast aches for his soft lips on it again.

"Virtue my ass – whatever we're . . . oh . . . doing is not vir– oh God," I manage to say, in the midst of him returning his magic back to my breasts. I am again moaning and groaning, while his left hand is slightly pinching and rolling my malleable skin. While Peeta makes me increasingly embarrassed yet aroused, I think back to the time I almost caught Mother and Father in the act.

I was a young girl, too skittery to sleep, so I went to my parent's bedroom. I remembered seeing the large and smooth back of my father's, and for a split second, I thought mother and father were hurting each other. They caught me, and even though I had ruined their alone time, they explained to me that whatever they were doing was because they loved each other. It was natural, they said.

It seems like my feelings for Peeta are natural, too. It's as if his feelings are embedded into my mind and soul. Even before I met they guy, he had already seen me, had already marked me. I think I knew right when he had given me the bread. Why else would I wait a bit more, just behind the store?

Peeta brings me back to reality by kissing me softly on the lips. I open my eyes, only to find his gems on me. They are dark, and all I want to do is kiss him again.

"Katniss?" he asks. There is a moment of silence before I can feel his fingers touch the tops of my sleeping shorts. I suck in a breath, knowing exactly what he's asking for. If I was nervous before, I am wrong.

Slowly but surely, his fingers gently graze a part of me I have yet to know. I jump a little at the unexpected sensations, and Peeta instantly pulls back. He is still hovering over me, but his hand is resting on my thigh.

"Touch me, please."

The low, guttural command forces me to blush, but causes Peeta to give me a goofy grin. He lowers his lush lips on mine, and he kisses me like a shy school boy. They are soft and careful, close mouthed kisses. His hands travel down to the sides of my body, and finally, _finally_, my throbbing center is relieved of the cotton.

Right now, I am grateful for the darkness. I know the prep team has done a good job in making me look completely hairless and clean, but yet again, I'm resorting back to being shy. Trying to be crafty, I attempt to close my legs together, but Peeta halts my actions.

"Ah-ah," he chides. "What happened to being the strong, forceful girl as of a minute ago?"

I redden, not because of arousal, but because he caught me.

"Kat, please, I don't want you to think this is because I don't want to _waste our time_." Peeta pauses and gently grazes my hair. "I'm serious about this. This matters. Right here, right now, we matter." He resumes kissing me once on the lips, and chastely kisses me on either side of my cheeks.

And then, his fingers are _there_.

A loud groan escapes me. He's going slow, as if he's testing the waters. Another finger is being added, and I'm burning up. "Peeta . . ." I moan out.

"Yes, love?"

"Stop, for a second."

Instantly, I understand the meaning of my words. I don't want him to _stop stop_, but I want to talk to him for a second. But wait – should I talk to him? Am I even allowed to do that?

A flash of hurt and bewilderedness covers Peeta's face. Immediately, he pulls back, and I mentally slap myself for my stupidity. "Is everything alright?" he asks, voicing his concern. "Did I do something wrong? I mean, if I was going too fast–"

"No, no, it's not that. It's just, well . . ." I frown a little. Why the hell did I make him stop? What is wrong with me?

Just to make sure Peeta's not going anywhere, I keep a tight hold on him.

"I-I . . ." Goodness, my voice is shaking beyond measure. I swallow, and a round of nervousness washes over me. But then, I think, what exactly am I trying to ask? I absolutely don't want him to stop. I want to rip my gloves off – yes, throw them away and hand them to Peeta. So, how do I tell him that? It doesn't help that I'm poorly trained in this area of expertise, and with each passing second, I realize I'm messing everything up.

"Never mind. J-just . . ." Again, I run out of words, and I do the only thing I _can_ do – kiss him fiercely. He's surprised, I can tell. Without warning he pushes back and looks at me square in the eye.

"Katniss, is everything alright? And please don't say 'never mind' again." Peeta's voice wobbles a bit, and I suddenly realize how much of a clusterfuck I've created by saying stop.

"Nothing's wrong, Peeta! Kiss me again," I whine. When he hesitates a little, I become a bit angry and proceed to handle things myself. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on. But then I hold on a _little_ too tight and when Peeta's lower half connects with me, that's when I realize: I need him _now_.

I moan out real loud at the contact. I can feel how ready Peeta is for me, and I'm definitely ready for him.

Peeta groans a little, and the sound travels straight to my core – my heart, among other things. With shaky fingers, my hand travels down to his boxers and I lightly touch the band of elastic.

That's when I hear a laugh. A slow, small chuckle. I momentarily freeze, wondering what the hell is going on. I look up at Peeta and he's smiling, a real, genuine smile. "Is this why you made me stop? So you can pull my remaining clothing down?"

It seems like every time Peeta talks, I blush. I look away, to some extent ashamed. "Well, I . . . Yes. Can you quit talking in between so we can, you know, get on with it?" Oh God, my bluntness is really getting to me. Perhaps it's the secret, desire part of me that's saying all of this.

Peeta looks at me adoringly, and I am shattered into pieces, already lying in the middle of Peeta's palm.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Have you done this before?"

Inwardly, I cringe, but I respond back with a simple nod – a simple no.

"Katniss, we don't have to do this . . ."

I shake my head, wanting him to continue this route of pleasure and lust. "But I want you Peeta. And it's not because of whatever is going on outside. I really do – I want you and I need you. Please," I beg. _Please make me feel whole and full_, I silently add. _Only you can do that_.

He nods and lowers his lips, kissing me again. He releases me, and in a swift motion, Peeta's glorious body is now in full view. Despite hearing from the other girls how "funny" a man's part is, I think it's beautiful. Foreign, yes, but a part of everyone; essentially, a part of Peeta.

Peeta lowers himself onto me, and I run my hands on his smooth back. I can feel the cool metal of his prosthetic leg, and for once, I'm glad for the mixture of alloys. It soothes my flaming skin. He kisses me, torturing me with his silky tongue, going slow, slow, slow,

And then, he's pushing into me, and I am lost. I'm in an uncomfortable position and I feel as if I'm being stretched to the max, but Peeta caters my need. He only breaches the front, giving me time to adjust.

"Are you alright?"

I respond back with a nod, and with a dramatic entrance, my maidenhood is vanished. I wince at the pain, and Peeta halts his actions. "I'm sorry love," he whispers. He kisses my forehead, my eye lids, my cheeks. He remains still.

"Peeta, you can move." I wriggle my hips to get accustomed to the feeling of Peeta inside me. I suddenly realize that I am completely full, just like how I wanted to be. He fills the hollow part of me – figuratively and literally.

So he moves leisurely, worshiping me in any way possible, giving me smoldering kisses in between. Eventually, I am working my way up to pleasure, meeting Peeta in the middle. He murmurs sweet words, and they travel down to my bones, melting me in unknown ways. As we move together, this odd feeling starts to work its way up. All I know is that I want more. A lot more.

We're both groaning and moaning, and none of it feels selfish. It just feels natural. It's who we are. This type of intimacy is just another, more pleasurable way to communicate our feelings for each other. Each caress brings me closer to the edge of the new sensation, and each throaty moan makes me strive for more. My eyes lock onto Peeta's, and I know.

_I love him_.

Before I can voice this idea or even think about it, I am tipped over, succumbing to the wonderful gift. I cry out, uttering his name, desperate to hold on. It swirls around me, and I wish it would never stop. Soon, Peeta follows after, saying my name in a hoarse voice. Both he and I are vulnerable and spent, but I am beyond giddy. I have knowledge that most people don't have.

I know what love is.

His touch scorches me. Every word of comfort he says leaves me feeling content. Any gesture he gives lets me know he will always be there for me. And no one, _no one_, has been able to do that.

I'm brought back to reality, yet again. I smile at my new revelation, and Peeta smiles back. It's so childish, his grin, that I giggle. His nose nuzzles the base of neck, and he plants a couple of kisses there. He doesn't make a move to get off.

"Tomorrow's going to be one hell of a day. I wish it would never come."

I bring his head down and kiss him, smiling as I do so. "Let's just stay here for a while."


End file.
